


shadow

by justalittlegreen



Series: Sunshine and Filth [23]
Category: MASH (1970), MASH (TV)
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pain, Self Harm, consensual pain, fallen idol, hunnihawk, radar - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-26 22:49:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16690408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justalittlegreen/pseuds/justalittlegreen
Summary: a tag for Fallen Idol. Everyone's yelling at Hawkeye. Especially himself.CW / CN / TW for mild instances of SI. consensual pain.





	shadow

He deserves it.

BJ probably knows better than anyone just how much Hawkeye is beating himself up over Radar's injury, and there's a part of him that wants to snap at everyone else. If anything, Potter should know better than to kick Hawkeye while he's already down. Disappointing the Colonel is high on the list of things that matter to Hawk. Along with not putting surrogate little brothers into harm's way.  
  
But he deserves it.

Not Hawkeye; Radar. Radar deserves to have Hawkeye chewed out for showing up hungover to surgery and bailing in the middle. Radar deserves to have the wrath of Margaret and Potter wielded in his defense. Radar deserves to know the ferocity with which he is loved in this place.

So BJ sits, his knee just inches from Hawkeye's, willing himself not to put an arm around Hawk while everyone's yelling. Willing his hands to stay put, to stay off the scruff of Hawk's neck. Hoping his fingers don't betray him, despite the urge to hook his pinky through Hawkeye's.  _We're in this together. I promise._

He sits, and watches Hawk retreat into himself, sinking into a pile of misery, simply bearing it with him. When the door to the Swamp shuts for the last time, Hawk crawls under the blanket. 

The worst part is that BJ can't hear him crying. Hawkeye Pierce is the loudest person in camp by a few decibels. He does nothing quietly - he sings at the top of his lungs, gives full-throated guffaws, tells stories at a volume that can be heard in North Korea - but in this moment, the only sound is the rustle of canvas pants on an army blanket. BJ beholds the silent, shaking lump of burlap blanket and wants to climb inside it with him. Hold him. Ease whatever twisting pain is scarring him right now.  
  
Let the rest of the camp take care of Radar.  
  
He reaches over and puts a hand where he thinks Hawk's shoulder might be, and rubs it softly. The shaking stops for a moment. Good. He reaches his arm around the lump, and tries to pull Hawkeye closer to the edge of the cot, but Hawk resists, scrambles out of his grip, and climbs out from under the blanket, face turned away.   
  
"Hawk - "  
  
"Don't." Hawkeye's voice is thick from crying. He gives a sniff and rubs his eyes with the back of his hand. "Just don't. I can't. Not from you."  
  
"Hawk, I'm not -"  
  
"I know you're not. But you should. I deserve it."  
  
"No, you don't. You're beating yourself up enough for all of us."  
  
There's a long pause, and then Hawk whispers, on the edge of tears again, "How could it ever be enough?"

  
  
Something in BJ snaps. Or breaks. Or shatters. The last of whatever was containing the lion has broken; BJ clambers over the bed and grabs Hawk from the side, squeezing as hard as he dares, rubbing his back and arms briskly through the blanket, anything, anything to bring him back from whatever shadow is holding him. Hawkeye struggles and fights at first, but BJ digs in, holding him tight, until he realizes that Hawk isn't trying to get to him at all. He's got his head in his hands and is pulling on his own hair as hard as he can. Some of the blanket falls from his shoulder and BJ can see long, angry welts where Hawk's scratched at his arm until it's raw.  
  
BJ gets down on his knees in front of Hawk, grabbing his wrists (he hasn't noticed until this moment how small Hawkeye's wrists are. How he can fit his thumb and forefinger around them without stretching) and trying to meet his eyes.   
  
"Hawk.  _Hawk._ " he urges. "Let me have a look at you. Let me see?" Hawk shakes his head, and lets out a moan.   
  
"Okay. Okay. I'm, um - I'm going to get Father Mulcahey. Or see if we can call in Sidney. Do you think -"  
  
" _No_ ," Hawkeye sobs. "No. None of that. Please."  
  
"Hawk," says BJ in his most gentle voice, trying to keep the worry out of it, "I'm in a little over my head here. I need to call in an expert."  
  
Hawkeye nods, breathes deeply, tries to get a hold on himself. BJ relaxes his grip on Hawk's wrists. Hawk slides his hands out of his hair. Small clumps of black and silver strands tangle in between his fingers. "I can't be here," he mutters.  
  
"I know. I know it's terrible, Hawkeye, I know it's eating at you - I can see how awful you feel. But it doesn't have to be like this."  
  
"You're right," Hawk says, turning away toward the still. "I forgot - there's plenty of anesthesia in the still. Might as well."  
  
" _Or_ ," BJ continues, with a slight edge in his voice, "you can decide that the hurt and scared feelings of a kid in post-op are more important than your shame and get back in there, where he needs you."  
  
Hawkeye sighs again. "You know I can't do that."  
  
"Actually, I know that you can. Just not yet, maybe."  
  
"I don't know if I'll ever be able to."  
  
BJ nods. "I think I can help."  
  
"Unless your idea of helping involves leaving me alone with a pearl-handled pistol with a single bullet in it, or an actual martini - or both - I think I'm going to have to decline."  
  
" _Hawkeye_." It's not a question. Hawkeye turns around slowly. His face is streaked and grubby, eyes swollen. BJ gently puts a hand on his shoulder and guides him down into bed and crawls in next to him. He kisses the back of Hawkeye's head, and Hawkeye whimpers.  
  
"I know," he says. "I know. You don't deserve this."  
  
"...don't deserve  _you_ ," Hawkeye mutters.   
  
"Oh, but I deserve you, you see," BJ counters deftly, kissing the edge of Hawkeye's ear. "I can't live without my Hawkeye."  
  
He can feel Hawk starting to respond to his ministrations, stirring slightly and tilting his head just enough to expose more of his neck. BJ nips him right under his jaw, in his most ticklish place, and the sensation runs a shiver all the way through him.  
  
"It's like those times with the boys on the table, isn't it," he whispers. "You want it to hurt."  
  
Hawkeye gives the tiniest nod.   
  
"You need it to hurt. And then to make it better."  
  
Another nod, more sure this time.  
  
BJ sighs. He's never given into Hawkeye's pleas to be hit before. It doesn't feel right, not when he's in that state. But maybe Father Mulcahey can't fix this. Maybe Hawk can't work his way out of this one alone. And lord knows yelling isn't going to solve anything.  
  
He slips a hand under Hawkeye's jacket and pulls his undershirt out of his pants, reaching for whatever scrap of skin and muscle he can grab -  _augh,_ this man has nothing spare on his frame - and finally gets a slim handful of belly, grips hard and pulls slowly. Hawk shudders and pants, his usual high wail dropping into a deep moan that climbs its way through his clenched teeth. BJ lets go and finds another spot - a nipple - and pinches hard, twisting. Hawk bucks and folds, writhing, breath coming faster, sweat forming on the back of his neck. Next, two fingers jammed into the soft of Hawk's armpit. One by one, BJ finds whatever sensitive spots he can and twists, pulls, jabs and presses until Hawk is crying harder and harder, wracking his too-thin body with sobs.  
  
BJ aims for his hip while he's thrashing and misses, palm skating over the front of Hawk's pants and is shocked to find him hard. He gives Hawk a squeeze - not too hard; he has no interest in hurting Hawk like that - but whispers, "do you want more pain? do you need more pain? Or do you need me to take care of - " he rubs his palm over Hawk's front again, more firmly this time " - this?"  
  
Hawk answers by sliding his hand over BJ's, lacing their fingers together, and lifting BJ's hand and sliding it into his pants. Neither of them has a free arm to undo buckles and buttons, but it's hardly the point right now. Hawk is warm and impossibly smooth, and BJ moves his hand as best he can in the tight quarters, gripping, stroking.  
  


Hawk's gone silent again - they are, after all, in the Swamp in broad daylight - and only the sounds of fabric and the occasional sharp breath fill the Swamp. BJ feels Hawk starting to tense up, the way he does when he's close and Hawk's mouth is moving but hardly anything is coming out. BJ can just barely hear him say, "please. please. I need - "  
  
BJ knows. He whispers "yes," and immediately sinks his teeth as hard as he can into Hawkeye's shoulder. The sensation sets Hawk off, spilling into their interlaced hands as he bucks and writhes, and gasps, tears leaking out of his tightly shut eyes.  
  
As he comes down, BJ pulls his hand out, wiping it on Hawk's shirt and Hawk smiles for the first time all day - BJ has no idea why, but Hawk loves it when he does that. Their breathing slows, and BJ gathers up the nerve to ask, "Are you feeling any better."  
  
Hawk nods against his chest. "I'm going to get up in a minute. Let him take whatever swing at me he needs to."  
  
BJ feels a swell of - not pride exactly, but something close to it - welling up in his chest.  _He brought Hawk back._ Whatever shadow had him, it's backed off for now.


End file.
